Understanding
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: Obi-Wan and Anakin talk upon Anakin's return from Naboo. Post AotC.


A/N:  Wow, I've been slacking on my fan fic!  Hmm…well, this is a short little story that I just randomly wrote awhile ago and just recently rediscovered on my computer.  I can actually see this kind of happening within the context of AotC, and I hope you all can too.  My take on the Obi/Anakin relationship is one of deep friendship, and I don't mean to imply anything more than that.  There are many kinds of love beyond romantic love (which is kind of the point of the little story now that I think about it).  Anyway, I hope you enjoy!  Spoilers obviously for AotC.

Disclaimer:  I'm just playing with other people's toys….

Understanding

                Although the healers assured him there was no permanent damage from his injuries on Geonosis, Obi-Wan still felt a tightness in his arm and thigh when he moved, especially in the cold and rain—both of which characterized the weather on the landing platform.  A general ache had pervaded his entire body, yet he had successfully kept it at bay as he began to resume somewhat normal duties.

                Normal duties—it seemed a little bit funny to him that he should ever call the life of a Jedi normal.  Especially now.  The Clone Wars had brought a new era into the Republic.  Although the propaganda was hopeful, Obi-Wan could sense a deeper gloom in the fledgling existence of democracy.

                Now, more than ever, his services were needed.  The galaxy didn't have time for psychosomatic malaise.  Once his Padawan returned, they would be sent off to help feel out the battle lines being drawn, hopefully quelling rebellions before they started on borderline planets.  It would not be a fun job, but he reminded himself with a rueful smile that "fun" was not exactly part of the Jedi Code.

                He was unusually anxious.  Geonosis had done nothing to assuage his anxieties, notably those concerning Anakin.  He had seen the Light flicker in the young man's eyes.  He had felt it too.  He had felt the dedication and devotion to the Light, to the Jedi, waver.  It was practically imperceptible but Obi-Wan had felt it clearly.  His Padawan knew anger, hate.  His Padawan knew love.

                The ship finally descended through the rainy skies and Obi-Wan hugged his wet robe tightly against himself.  The rain had lessened from its downpour and now splattered lightly about him with cool, shallow drops.  Employing the Force, he eschewed the groans of his body—he was not a young man anymore.  But the Force was stronger than age.

                As the craft landed, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin had refused a pilot.  After ten years doing everything together, Obi-Wan could detect his Padawan through anything.  His flying technique was particularly unique, fine tuned on the sand dunes of Tatooine.  The young man had disengaged the autopilot, not out of necessity, but rather for the fun of it.  But somehow the movements, while still done with Anakin's passion, lost a certain amount of clarity.  The foreboding overtook him once again.  Anakin had changed drastically.

                Swallowing grimly, Obi-Wan moved toward the descending ramp.  He tried to smile as his Padawan appeared, clad in his usual black garb.  One look was all Obi-Wan needed to confirm his fears and suspicions.

                Anakin, for his part, smiled with a false bravado that did not deceive Obi-Wan.  His strides unnaturally long and assured, Anakin approached.  "Master, it is good to see you recovered," he greeted him amiably.

                Obi-Wan gathered his thoughts.  "It is also good to see you recovering.  How are you adapting to your hand?"

                Anakin glanced at the prosthetic limb.  "As well as can be expected.  It'll take some getting used to but I can manipulate it fairly well.  Even with a lightsaber."

                "You are comfortable about it, though."

                "I suppose," Anakin said slowly, flexing it curiously.

                A moment passed as they both stared at his hand.  "Is Padmé comfortable with it?"

                His eyes flashing, Anakin looked up, his façade shattered.  "M-Master?" Anakin stuttered.

                "I know, Padawan," Obi-Wan told him simply but meaningfully.

                Anakin feigned ignorance.  "Know what?" he asked.

                "Did you marry her?"

                "Master!"

                "Did you marry her?" Obi-Wan asked again, his voice soft and colorless.  His eyes did not leave his Padawan's face.  His gaze left no doubt as to how much he was certain of.

                A thousand things flitted in Anakin's eyes.  Panic and anger, fear and hatred, hope and love—feelings and emotions—the things Jedi do not fall victim too.  The Padawan had already fathomed countless explanations, excuses, and confessions.  None of them seemed right now.  How had he ever expected to hide this from his Master?

                He had never truly expected to hide it.  That had been a desperate fantasy.  He would not insult his mentor.  "Yes."

                Obi-Wan's expression did not change with the admission.  "You do realize what it means," he simply said, not harshly.

                "It means that I love her," Anakin replied fiercely, his eyes narrowing in passion through the rain.

                "I know."

                Unnerved by the utter calmness of his Master, Anakin lashed out verbally.  "But a Jedi knows not love," he recited, somewhat maliciously, laden with sarcasm.

                "That is not true."

                "Yes it is," Anakin sassed.  "A Jedi shall know not anger, nor hatred, nor love.  That's what they teach us, isn't it?  Huh, Master?"

                Something trembled in Obi-Wan's countenance.  Concern surfaced in his level features.  "You interpret that too literally, Padawan."

                "So you're telling me that the Council would have sent gifts to the wedding if I had told them?"

                "No."

                "Exactly.  I would have been expelled from the Order because I fell in love.  I chose an attachment.  How very un-Jedi-like of me."

                "It is not true that a Jedi will know not anger, hatred, and love," Obi-Wan continued quietly, undeterred by Anakin's purposeful incitements.

                "Then what does it mean?" Anakin challenged.

                "We will always know these things—they are a part of the very essence of being alive.  We cannot run from them or ignore them.  We know them perhaps more clearly and precisely than anyone else.  But we do not indulge them," Obi-Wan said, his eyes penetrating deeply in Anakin's soul.  "The Jedi Code does not prohibit the emotion, but rather the act of placating and feeding it.  When the tendrils of anger begin to spread throughout us, we call upon the Force for reason and power to enact justice.  When the traces of hatred well up within us, we juxtapose that emotion with reality and justice.  When passion begins to surge so powerfully within us and our desire becomes love, we ascend to ideals and duty, sacrificing the emotion for something greater."

                "What is greater than love?"

                "To us personally, nothing," Obi-Wan said.  Anakin looked smugly justified, but Obi-Wan continued, "But in the galaxy—that's a different story.

                "The galaxy will always have love.  The galaxy will always have hate.  Without a doubt, the love is superior and the universe needs much more than it has.  But the Force has not called us to love.  The Force has called us to serve.  Duty is greater than love in the galaxy, and it is not our duty to love."

                "Padmé is everything to me!" Anakin insisted passionately.  "You can't possibly understand that."

                Obi-Wan smiled sadly.  "Do not assume, my young apprentice."

                "When have you ever loved another so strongly—so passionately—that you could not fight it?  Have you ever been so overwhelmed with it that it takes over everything?  Padmé is in my heart—my soul.  She is greater than the Force.  I need her.  I will not give her up.  You can't possibly know that feeling."

                "You assume too much."          

                Anakin cocked his head inquisitively.  "Who then?"

                "Padawan—"

                "You have spoken of no others."

                "There are many forms of love," Obi-Wan replied plaintively.  "It is true that I do not love a woman, but do not assume that I do not know this overwhelming, encompassing love."

                Choosing not to pursue it any further, Anakin withdrew skeptically.  "You can never understand," he said, looking out over the landing pad to the city below.  Obi-Wan said nothing, and Anakin, sadness written on his youthful features, asked, "Are you going to tell the Council?"

                Obi-Wan knew what answer Anakin expected.  He knew what answer he should give.  The Code mandated that he inform the Council if he knew a breech in conduct, especially by his own Padawan.  "No."

                Anakin looked up, surprised.  "No?" he asked, suspecting a joke, a catch maybe.

                "No."

                Jadedly, Anakin did not trust his master. "Why not?"

                "As I have said, Anakin, I too know love."

                The statement was cryptic.  Unsettled, Anakin looked away from his master again.  The rain was beginning to pick up again.  He missed Padmé fervently already.  Living without her would be harder than he had anticipated—the longing to see her, to hold her, to kiss her gently ached in his very soul.  Maintaining an active role as a Jedi would be complicated.  But he could not give up his training—he wanted to know more, he wanted to be more.  He wanted to harness his abilities, his power—for his mother, for himself…for Padmé.  It was all for Padmé.  She deserved a galaxy free of pain—free of the torment of death, of loss.  He would provide all this for her.  He would not fail her as he failed his mother.

                He glanced back at Obi-Wan who had not moved in the deluge.  His face seemed older now—tired.  He hadn't noticed how much his master had changed.  The beard, matted to his wet face, hid all the boyish vitality that had once connected them.  Somehow the well of dry humor was fading—or maybe he could just no longer draw from it.  There was something about the man—something deep and mysterious that always eluded Anakin.  But, despite himself, he could not reject Obi-Wan.  The bond was still there, Anakin realized, despite everything, it was not broken.  Even after all the trials and the stresses, it would not be broken.  It was almost as if Obi-Wan had steeled it, refusing to relinquish it, even when Anakin acted nearly irrevocably against it.  Momentarily, as the strength of the bond gripped him, he tried to fathom what he would have to do to destroy the bond.  His teeth clenched, Anakin saw that only death would keep Obi-Wan from maintaining the bond.

                Anger flashed within him again.  The Jedi would never understand.  They would expel him for this infraction.  But he could not forsake Padmé—his heart.  But he could not leave the Order.  The only precarious link he held to the Order was his master.  Eyeing the older Jedi with uncertainty, Anakin held out hope in their bond.  "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice nearly lost in the sound of the rain against the landing pad.

                Obi-Wan remained impassive.

                "You just couldn't understand," Anakin said with a shake of his head, brushing past his master and toward the warmth of the indoors.  He was thankful for the rain that streaked down his face, for it hid his tears.  Tears were not part of the Jedi way.

                The rain had long since blurred his vision, but Obi-Wan did not let his gaze waver.  He watched Anakin, tormented by his defiance and his love, stalk away.  The pain in the young man was practically palpable.  Obi-Wan took a shuddering breath, wishing desperately he had the means to assuage his apprentice's wounds.  If Anakin would only open up to him—but that was not Anakin's fault.  Obi-Wan understood his own reservations had created a barrier between them.  Their bond ran deep but unspoken.  If only it wasn't too late.  He would fight for that boy until the day he died.

                Because he did understand.  He understood perfectly.  He understood the power of unconditional and uncontrollable love.  It was a love that defied all logic and commandeered one's senses.  It left no room for debate, it pulled and one followed after it pathetically.  It knew no bounds.  It cared not for societal regulation.  It even dared to ignore the Jedi Order.

                There was no woman.  There had never been a woman that tempted Obi-Wan away from the Order—not for love anyway.  He had been infatuated before with women of beauty and quiet strength.  There had been moments when his fidelity to the Order had wavered for a night of pleasure that surely would have been granted to him, but his duty had always prevailed.  No woman ever offered him a provocative reason to leave.  But he still understood.

                Watching Anakin disappear inside, the rain still falling, he understood.  That boy was more than an apprentice, more than a fellow Jedi—that boy was his best friend, his son, his only way of defining himself.  He would do anything for him.  He would break any code or regulation or promise.  He would never tell the Council, and if the Council ever found out, he would defend the boy, he would fight for him—he would even take the fall for him.

                Oh Force—he understood.


End file.
